An enthusiastic text from Violet offered: “Did you see Molly’s Kink of the Week? This week (actually a fortnight) it’s BUTT PLUGS!!
Said I: “Oh! We like those! We could do a his and hers!”
The rest is history. You can read her take as well. Same headings and prompts, but the opposite (and delightful) perspective.
Why I like butt plugs (this is an understatement)
I like butt plugs.
Not that this specifically needed to be said. It’s probably largely self-evident already. It’s one of my (very few) rules, that I shall be plugged on a daily basis. I have also expressed some very particular opinions on what makes a good butt plug, and how to go about shopping for one.
What is less well established is why I like butt plugs. It’s an interesting question to ponder, even for me. It has been an accepted truth for so very long, that it takes some reflection and contemplation and consideration to figure out where this actually came from.
Partly, I think there is value in being penetrated. The submissive value of accepting something not meant to be there in a very intimate and usually very closed off part of your body. This is not a new experience for me, to be certain. The first time something got lodged in my posterior would be when I was 15 or 16. Dildos showed up on the scene by 19 or 20 (this would have been an exceptionally racy purchase at the time). Butt plugs had reared their prominent flanges by 22 or 23. That means there is a good thirty year history of my expansive accommodation of butt plugs, right there.
What they do for me
That butt plugs have been a fixture doesn’t fully explain why butt plugs are a fixture. That they do things to and for me is unquestionable. What they do to me, specifically, is a little more nuanced.
An important thing to recognize about anal play is that the anus is one delightfully sensitive little bundle of nerves. Attended to with consideration and love, that means that anal play can be incredibly exquisite and awesome. Feeling yourself penetrated is an amazingly vulnerable and intimate proposition. Remaining penetrated for an extended period of time is all the wonderful. Wearing a butt plug is like dialling your sensitivities up to 11, and then holding it there for on a prolonged basis.
It is also an incredibly intimate experience. Whether you put the plug in, or your partner does, you are being claimed in a remarkably profound and pronounced way. There is amazing wonder to be realized in having someone insert the plug and seat it home. As a man, I don’t know of a feeling that quite compares in terms of sensation. Performing that act from afar in a long-distance relationship is no less intimate, however. Knowing that it is being inserted at her request, as an extension of her will and expectation, is extraordinarily profound. Her presence and attention as it slides home is very real.
The most significant sensation is one of absolute submission. Accepting insertion in the anus comfortably requires surrender and release. You need to open yourself up to the penetration. It involves fundamentally letting go and allowing—in fact, encouraging—insertion where that isn’t normally experienced. The transgressive nature of accepting something in your anus is its very own delicious delight, and so very, very squirmy making.
Part of that squirm is a product of the fact that no one else knows. You know what lurks in your butt. So does your partner. But the rest of the world is entirely oblivious. Over the last few weeks, I’ve had a couple of occasions where I’ve asked my Goddess to be able to wear a butt plug to a business function. In all instances, she has not just allowed it, but also revelled in it. We’ve both delighted in the fact that on the surface I appear to be a respectable and responsible bear, while underneath we are perfectly aware of how much of a slut I actually am.
All of this culminates in the fact that butt plugs are there. They are always present. Prominent. Intrusive. When you have a plug inserted, you never feel otherwise. You are always reminded and aware that you are owned, that you are claimed, and that someone else has possession of your most intimate of places. You may relax and accept the intrusion, but you will never forget it. You may squirm and delight in being penetrated, but the feeling of ecstasy never really goes away. Being plugged is a unmistakable sensation that never, ever recedes.
What I hope they do for her
For my partner, my most fervent hope is that she delights in the feelings of ownership that plugging me inspires.
She knows what butt plugs can do. She is familiar with the intimate invasion and prominent possession that anal insertion can instill. When she asks me to insert my plug, she knows exactly what she is asking for, and what it will do for me. And to me.
What I hope butt plugs do for my Goddess is to reinforce for her how much I am owned, and how profoundly I accept that truth.
Not that plugs are the sole vehicle of that experience. But they are the symbol. Ever time I am plugged, it is a reminder—for both of us—of how much I am hers.
That’s a sensation that I believe that we both value. She likes the confident assurance that I am her devoted plaything and her devout pet. I like the reminder and reinforcement that my service is real, present and profound.
What I mostly hope is that my wearing a butt plug reinforces for my Goddess how much I am obedient and devoted and dedicated to her pleasure. Because she asks, I comply. Because she expects, I respond. Because she wants, I deliver. I am devotedly hers, and being plugged on an extended basis is the first reinforcement of that truth.
How this plays out today
How this plays out today is multi-faceted. I am plugged daily. At a minimum, I wear a butt plug all night, every night. For a time, there was choice in terms of what butt plug I would wear. My Goddess would express a preference, and I would comply.
This has evolved to a default reality of wearing my large plug. There are still circumstances where that varies, but they are for the most part few and far between. Most nights it is expected that I’m sleeping with my largest plug, and dreaming wondrous dreams about my Goddess as I do.
That gets further complicated when I’m travelling. It’s expected that when I’m on the road, I will always wear the large plug at night. And when I’m in the city for work, operating out of my office, I will be plugged on a 24/7 basis.
To be plugged constantly is its own unique and intriguing experience. As already noted, the sensation is omnipresent and never fades. Being plugged continually—especially with the large plug—means that I am aware and horny and desperate pretty much all of the time. It never recedes, I am never not wet, and unless expressly permitted I am also never fulfilled.
How I hope that plays out in the future
I never really want this feeling to go away.
I adore being plugged for my Goddess. I glow with pride that she requires it of me. The experience of being plugged every night—and sometimes moreso—is delightful and amazing and awesome. I anticipate it with an enthusiastic eagerness that betrays just how much of an obedient slut I apparently am.
I equally delight in the surprise missives that occasionally brighten my day, unexpected messages instructing me to insert a particular plug at my earliest convenience, and to keep it there. Responding to the whimsical requirements of my Goddess, for no other reason than she asks and it pleases her that I obey. That I will spend the coming hours squirming and needy, with my attention focused acutely and intensely on her.
To date, my experience has mostly been with glass plugs. They have their own advantages: they don’t require a massive amount of lube, they clean easily, they are delightfully sensitive to temperature, and they are entirely unyielding in their presence.
I’m not a size queen, and I don’t have an obsession with larger and larger plugs, per se. I don’t need to constantly be stretching and expanding. What I do recognize, though, is the delicious tensions that results when your butt plug has squish. Glass doesn’t go anywhere. Silicone—especially softer silicone—puts up a fight. The result is that for all you clench and try to control, eventually muscle fatigue will win out and you will surrender fully to the intrusion that presents itself.
I would like the tension of holding in plugs that are a little bigger than I can manage. The fight of trying to contain the dimensions to what I am comfortable with, and the forced expansion that takes me a little bit beyond. The helplessness of being held open a little bit more than is comfortable, for no other reason than that is what my Goddess asks of me. Being filled with what I can accommodate is one thing. Fighting to contain a girth that is a little bit beyond, and ultimately losing—of being resigned to surrender to its intrusion—is something else.
The prospect of all of this is incredibly stimulating. Which is genuinely the point. Butt plugs are not just a symbol of submission, but an absolute assurance of it, one that is felt profoundly and yet completely invisible. I can go about my day with an outward expression of quiet confidence, knowing fully and reminded constantly that deep on the inside I am my Goddess’ completely slutty, utterly obedient bear. And that is all the awesome.